Sarah
by YoshuD
Summary: Sarah Potter thought that she was a normal girl, orphaned, but still normal. Then a strange letter arrives at her house and she is whisked off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where her life will change beyond her wildest reckoning. [Girl-Wh
1. PreYear 1: The Girl Who Lived

A/N: Be aware that this fic is a HUGE AU, both in AU-ness, and length. This will eventually stretch to the end of seventh year, with (hopefully) many one-shots for Christmas, and the like. The first two years will be similar to canon. Third year and beyond will be very AU. No plot developments are going to be revealed (I hope, but the Christmas fic I have planned is in 5th year, so some perceptive people might root out some spoilers). Thanks, and have a good time!

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to the "Harry Potter" series. They are copyrighted to J.K. Rowling, starting in 1997 through 2003-2004. I thank Ms. Rowling for allowing pathetic, unemployed wretches like me mangle her work of art.

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Sarah

Pre-Year 1: The Girl who lived

A man appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey, Startling a tabby cat that had been watching the corner for hours.

Nothing like him had ever been seen in the area before. He was named Albus Dumbledore, and he was tall, thin, and old, as evidenced by the pure silver of his beard and hair. Both were long enough to tuck into his belt.

He didn't seem to realize that everything about him, from his long purple cloak, and his high-heeled boots to his half-moon spectacles were unwelcome in Privet Drive.

He started to rummage in his cloak for something, when he realized that he was being watched. He glanced up, and saw the cat, which, for some reason, amused him.

"I should have known," he muttered, and then laughed quietly.

He found what he was rummaging for in one of his presumably many inner pockets. It seemed to be a common Zippo lighter. He flicked it open, held it up, and clicked it. The street light closest to him flickered out. Eleven more times he clicked the Put-Outer. Each time, another street lamp flickered out. If anyone looked out the window, even the extremely nosy woman in Number Six, they wouldn't be able to see a thing happening on the pavement.

Dumbledore slipped the device back into a pocket, and set off down the street to the wall of Number Four, next to the cat. Remarkably, it didn't run away when he sat down next to it. He didn't look at it, but after a silence filled minute, he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the cat, but it had gone. Instead, he was facing a rather severe-looking man who was wearing oval glasses exactly the same shape of the cat's markings around it's eyes. He too, was wearing a cloak, emerald instead of purple. His long orange hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He looked just a tad ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked in a distinct Irish accent.

"My dear professor, does a real cat sit so stiffly?"

"You'd be stiff after sitting on a brick wall all day." said McGonagall, stretching.

"All day? When you could have been out celebrating? I probably passed a dozen feasts and parties coming here. Perhaps even more. I stopped counting after twelve," the eccentric old man said, grinning at his stoic colleague.

Professor McGonagall scoffed angrily. "Che. Everyone's celebrating, all right," he said, starting to rant. "You'd think they'd have the sense to be more careful, but noooo! Even the Muggles have noticed. It was on their news." He jerked a thumb at Number Four's living room. "I heard the whole thing. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... even leprechaun comets over Dublin... Well, they're not completely below a shark's IQ level. They were bound to notice something. Leprechaun comets in Dublin — I'd bet a year's salary that me no-good brother got them drunk on butterbeer. Never had much sense, the git." The irate professor finished, trying hard not to jinx a mailbox.

"You truly can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently, trying to mollify the Irishman. "We've had precious little to celebrate for almost twelve years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's still no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

He threw a sharp glare at Dumbledore, as if expecting him to tell him something, but he didn't, so he continued. "A beautiful thing it would be, if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles discovered our world. I suppose he really has gone, Albus?"

"It truly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what?_"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No thanks," said McGonagall coldly, as if he didn't think this was the proper time for lemon drops. "As I said, even if You-Know-Who has gone— "

"My dear Professor, surely such a sensible person like you can call him by hisname? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense— for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his actual name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was rummaging for another packet of lemon drops, did not seem to notice. "Fear of a name increases the fear of the thing itself, and it all gets so confusing if we say 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen a good reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows that you're the only one he was afraid of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have, nor consider having."

"Only because you're too—noble isn't the right word...—righteous to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

McGonagall shot Dumbledore a sharp look and said "The leprechauns are nothing compared to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed like he had reached the point he was most anxious to discuss. The only reason he had waited on a cold, hard garden wall al day, for neither as a cat, a human, or the fox he had been transfigured into in sixth year, had he fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as he did now. It was clear that he wasn't going to believe what "everyone" was saying until Dumbledore said it was so. Dumbledore, however, was searching his cloak for something and did not answer.

"What they're saying," he pressed on, "is that last night, Voldemort showed up in Godric's Hollow. They say he went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James are... that they're... dead..."

Dumbledore sighed morosely in answer. Professor McGonagall blanched. "Gods... Lily and James... I can't believe... that he got them, of all people..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "I know, I know... we both taught them back at Hogwarts."

Professor McGonagall's voice didn't seem as strong as he went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the twins. But after he killed Harry, he couldn't kill Sarah. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Sarah Potter, his power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's true?!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed.... He couldn't kill a little girl? It's astounding... How in the name of Gryffindor himself did Sarah survive?"

"We may never know."

Professor McGonagall discreetly used the corner of his cloak to wipe his eyes. Dumbledore gave a huge sniff as he checked a golden watch pulled from one fo his pockets. It was a strange watch. It had twelve hands, no numbers, and had little planets moving around the edge. It obviously made sense to Dumbledore, as he placed it back in his pocket and said, "Rubeus is late. I surmise he was the one who told you I would be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you'd tell me why you're here, of all the places?"

"I've come to bring Sarah to her aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. They're the only family she has left since James's parents died."

"You don't mean—you can't mean _them_?!" cried McGonagall, jumping to his feet and pointing at Number Four. "Albus—you can't. I've been watching them. You couldn't find two Muggles that are so... so... Muggle-ish! And they've also got this son—I saw him kicking his mother, going up the street, screaming for sweets and toys. Sarah Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," Dumbledore said firmly. "The Dursleys will be able to explain everything when she's older. I've written them a letter." _'Besides,'_ he thought, _' Petunia might surprise you, Geoffrey.'_

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall incredulously, slumping onto the wall. "Honestly, Albus, do you think all this can be explained in just a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous—practically legendary—I would not be surprised if today was called 'Sarah Potter Day'—there will be books written about her—every man, woman, and child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly why she must stay here," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over his spectacles. "She would not comprehend the attention. Just imagine, famous before she can walk or talk. Famous for something barely, or nor remembered. Can't you see how much better off she'll be?"

McGonagall opened his mouth, changed his mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes... yes, you're right, as usual. But how is she getting here, Albus?" He eyed Dumbledore's cloak as if he expected Dumbledore to pull Sarah out and yell "Surprise!!"

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid with something this important?"

"I would trust Rubeus with my life," said Dumbledore.

"Albus, it's not that his heart's not in the right place," said McGonagall grudgingly, "but you cannot forget his tendency toward carelessness. He does—what the...?"

A low rumbling broke the silence around the odd pair. It grew steadily louder as they glanced nervously around for a headlight. As ley looked up, the noise—surprisingly like a motor vehicle— crescendoed above them. A huge motorcycle flew out of the darkness and landed right in front of them.

If the bike was large, the man straddling it was giant. He had to be at least ten or eleven feet tall, and possibly half that wide. He looked too tall to fit in anywhere, and he looked so _wild_. His long, bushy black beard and hair masked most of his face, his hands were the size of pizza pans and his feet looked to be about three feet long. In his huge arms, bulky with muscle, he was holding a small bundle.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore happily. "Finally. Where did you get the motorcycle?"

"Borrered it, Professor, sir." said the huge man, climbing gingerly off the "borrered" bike as he spoke. "Sirius lent it to me. Don't worry, I've got 'er."

"No problems, then?" Dumbledore inquired.

"No, sir. Sirius 'elped me find the little tyke 'fore the Muggles started swarmin'. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and McGonagall lent forward over the bundle. Inside, barely visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under one of her jet-black bangs, they could see a strange cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that—?" whispered McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar as long as she lives."

"Couldn't you do something about it?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy sometimes." Dumbledore said mysteriously. "Well—give her here, Hagrid— we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Sarah from the gentle giant and turned toward Number Four.

"Could I-I say good bye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his huge, shaggy head over Sarah and gave her a bristly kiss. Then, without warning, Hagrid howled like a dying wolf.

"Shhh!" hissed the cat Animagus, "you'll wake up the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sniffed Hagrid, taking out a huge, pink handkerchief, and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily, Harry an' James dead— an' poor little Sarah goin' to the Muggles—"

"Yes, Hagrid, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself or we'lll be found." McGonagall whispered consolingly, patting Hagrid on the arm gently as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid the last Potter gently on the step, took an envelope from his cloak, tucked it inside Sarah's blankets, then came back to the other two.

For a good five minutes the three strange people stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid trembled as he attempted not to cry, McGonagall blinked back tears furiously, and Dumbledore's twinkling light that usually shone in his eyes had gone out.

"Well," Dumbledore finally choked out, "That's it. There's not point in staying here. We might as well join the festivities."

"Yeah," said Hagrid sadly, "I'll be takin' Sirius' bike back to 'im. G'night, Professors."

Wiping his eyes on a handkerchief pulled from a pocket, Hagrid swung onto the bike and kicked the engine to life with a roar; it rose into the air and into the deep darkness.

"I shall see you at Hogwarts in the morning, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to the Animagus. McGonagall nodded in response, followed by a discreet swipe at his eyes with a cloak sleeve.

The aged Headmaster of Hogwarts turned and walked to the corner. There, he paused and pulled out the Put-Outer. One click later, Privet Drive glowed orange, and Dumbledore could make out a tabby cat creeping around the corner at the other end of the street. He glanced at the small bundle on the step of Number Four.

"Good luck, Sarah," he murmured throatily, as if he was stifling tears. He turned on the high heel of his boot, and was gone.

A breath of wind rustled the leaves of Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, where no one would expect amazing things to happen. Sarah Potter gurgled in her sleep and rolled over quietly. One minuscule hand closed on Dumbledore's letter and she slept on, not knowing that her parents and brother were dead, not knowing that she would be woken in a few hours by Mrs. Petunia Dursley's startled gasp as she checked to see it the milk had been delivered, nor that her arrival would stir Vernon to pulling his mustache out. She wouldn't know that people meeting at various strange places were raising glasses of strange drinks and toasting her: "To Sarah Potter—the Girl-That-Lived!"

Prologue Fin

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A/N: I know that people might complain about the extreme closeness to canon, but.... I DON'T CARE!!! This is how the first chapter is written. Deal with it. 


	2. Year 1, Chapter 1: Birthdays and Letters

A/N: Here's Chapter 1. I am sorry that I was unable to write my planned Christmas oneshot, to parallel this story, but since it was set in 5th year, I decided to wait until at least third year had been reached. Please read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to the "Harry Potter" series. They are copyrighted to J.K. Rowling, starting in 1997 through 2003-2004. I thank Ms. Rowling for allowing pathetic, unemployed wretches like me mangle her work of art.

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Sarah

Year 1, Chapter 1: Birthdays and Letters

Nearly 10 years had passed since Sarah had shown up on the Dursley's doorstep, but Privet Drive looked the same as ever. The sun still rose on the same neat front lawns and brass house numbers. Not much had changed, and not much probably ever would.

Number Four's living room was the same as it had been when Vernon and Petunia had read Dumbledore's letter, except for the pictures. Where had been pictures of a fat, blonde, beach ball wearing revolting bonnets, there were now pictures of a husky blonde boy, and a thin raven-haired girl, both in black, grinning at the camera. They seemed close enough to be twins, but anyone who knew them knew that they were not.

The boy and girl were Dudley Dursley and Sarah Potter, and they both took perverse pleasure in driving their father insane. Yes, their father. You see, Mrs Dursley had always regretted breaking contact with her sister, and had convinced Vernon to adopt Sarah as a favor to Lily. Also, after Dudley was born, she found out that because of a hard labor, she wouldn't be able to have any more children. Sarah's arrival meant that she would be able to raise the daughter she would otherwise never have.

Vernon had been opposed to it, of course, but Petunia had been able to convince him. He didn't have to especially _like_ Sarah, but to treat her like a member of the family. After all, Petunia had her methods of blackmail. Leave with Dudley was the best. After that threat, Vernon usually caved like a badly made basement.

Anyway, Vernon loved his wife and son with all his heart, but, as said before, he wasn't totally fond of his adoptive daughter. He had to admit that she was nice to him in public, but in private, he had been pranked badly. Itching powder in his boxers, Thai pepper in his coffee, and purple dye in his shampoo seemed to be her favorites, and Dudley learned well. Thankfully, Dudley focused on bullies at school, and not on his father.

Sarah bunked in the room next to Dudley's. In Number Four, there were four bedrooms, the master bedroom, Dudley's room, Sarah's room, and the guest bedroom that Vernon's sister Marge slept in when she visited. Needless to say, since Marge was related to Vernon, she didn't like Sarah.

That morning, Sarah had slept in, and was woken up by Dudley knocking loudly on the door. "C'mon, Sarah, get up!" the blonde shouted through the door. The raven-haired girl shrieked as she fell off the bed in surprise.

"Dudley! Don't do that!" She looked up at the clock nailed to the ceiling in case of that frequent occurrence, and groaned. "Why do you have to wake me up so early, anyway?"

"Sis, nine is not early," Dudley retorted. "And mom won't let me open the presents until you're down there with us."

Sarah looked at the door, envisioning her cousin/brother standing there, ruffling his hair in exasperation, and groaned again. Dudley's birthday. How could she have forgotten it? She hadn't really forgotten, since she had gotten him a couple of CDs and some extra strings for his bass, but... well, at least they were wrapped, not like last year.

"All right, all right! I'm coming." She untangled herself from the sheets and cast her eyes around for some clothes. She saw a pair of jeans, relatively clean, and a t-shirt from one of her favorite bands, The Rasmus, sitting on top of a pile of clothes. She pulled the jeans on, buttoning them with one hand as she rummaged for a hair tie to pull her mid-back length hair into a messy ponytail.

She pulled on the t-shirt and ran over to the door. She flung it open and was faced by the annoyed look on her cousin/brother's face. "Come on," she said, and followed his mad rush down the stairs, pulling her hair into the ponytail she favored.

As they ran into the kitchen, Petunia turned from the stove, from which the smells of bacon and eggs were emanating, and smiled at the two.

"Good morning, you two. Glad to see you're up before lunch, Sarah." The raven-haired girl blushed at the mention of her strange sleeping patterns. During the summer, she preferred to stay up late and work on songs for the band she and Dudley had put together with two of their friends, Alexander Smythe and Jennifer Mitchell. Vernon, of course, did not approve, so that made it all the more fun.

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Sarah said, sounding embarrassed. "You know how it is. Ideas start flowing and I have to work 'em out..." she trailed off and shrugged. She didn't mean to stay up so late, but the ideas really did start flowing fast at about midnight. Thank god for soundproofed garages.

"I understand, dear." Petunia said, sounding sympathetic. "I used to write short stories for fun. The ideas always did come at night. I'd fill whole notebooks with ideas, and then pick out my favorites. Those I would write, and the others would just wait until I decided to go back to them."

"Hey! I didn't know you wrote, Aunt Petunia!" Sarah exclaimed. Anyone who wrote anything was cool in her book.

"Yes, I did. Mostly fantasy, but some others. I haven't seen those notebooks in a while. I wonder where they are..."

A cough was heard behind them. Dudley was sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed, his foot tapping against the linoleum like it always did when he was annoyed or impatient.

"Oh, sorry, bro." Sarah muttered, hand behind her head ashamedly. "Come on, let's see what you got."

With a grin, Dudley picked up the first present, from his father. It turned out to be a video game, Super Metroid for his SNES. "Thanks dad!" Uncle Vernon grunted an acknowledgment from his seat at the head of the table, where he was reading the paper.

From the hallway, the mail flap clicked. "Mail's here." Sarah said. "I'll get it." She stood up from her bacon and eggs and shuffled out to the front door. Three things lay on the mat, a postcard from Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, the monthly utilities bill, and a strange envelope, made of a heavy parchment, and cream colored. Printed on the front in green ink read:

_Ms. S. Potter_

_The Third Bedroom_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Sarah's heart skipped a beat. Not many people sent her letters. She only had to walk a block or so to see her friends, so they only sent her letters when on vacation. She always returned her library books promptly once she finished them, so it couldn't be a note asking for them back. Besides, she hadn't checked out any books for a few weeks now. There was no return address, so she couldn't find out who sent it that way.

As she walked back into the kitchen, mind elsewhere, she flipped the envelope over to the back. Sealing the envelope was a crimson wax seal, with the likeness of a shield stamped into it. In the center of the shield was a capital H, and surrounding it was a badger, a snake, a raven, and a lion. Sarah shook her head in confusion as she handed the first two items to Uncle Vernon. In her absence, Dudley had opened three more gifts, one of the CD's from Sarah, _Blackout_ by Dropkick Murphys, a book from his mother, some fantasy series, and the bass strings from Sarah.

"Hey, sis, thanks! How'd you know I wanted new strings?"

"You complained enough during our rehearsals about your old ones wearing out. I got the hint." Sarah laughed, then turned her attention back to the envelope. She ran her finger under the flap and carefully pulled the seal off without breaking it.

Dudley noticed her deft handiwork and commented on it. "What you got there? A letter? Who's it from?"

"I dunno," she said. "There was a weird seal on the back." She pulled a letter out of the envelope. She unfolded it and read:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump,_

_International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft_ _and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Geoffrey McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmaster_

Sarah looked up at the family in amazement. "If this is someone's idea of a joke, it's not funny." The others stared at her, Vernon and Petunia with pale faces.

"Dear, this isn't a joke. Your mother got a letter almost exactly like that when she was eleven" Aunt Petunia whispered, sounding almost scared of the pieces of parchment in her daughter's hand.

"Mom, there's no such thing as magic," Dudley protested. "It's only in books and movies." He gestured at the book he received.

"Dudley, magic is real. I saw it performed in from to my eyes when I went with my sister and parents to get her supplies." Petunia said, sounding stronger, more sure of herself. "Now scoot, you two. I need to talk to your father."

The two pre-teens stood and walked toward the door. Just as they were about to walk upstairs, Petunia called Sarah back. "Sarah, could I have the envelope and letter?"

Sarah nodded. "Sure, but I can have it back, right?"

"Of course. Close the door on your way out."

As Sarah shut the door, Dudley ran over and put his ear at the keyhole. Sarah, knowing that she wouldn't be able to budge him, and that they'd miss part of the conversation, just shook her head and lay down on the floor, her ear near the gap between the door and floor. Inside, the two could hear Vernon and Petunia having a heated discussion.

"Vernon, what should we do? We never told her about what really happened, like the letter that she had when we found her told us to."

"It's all right, pet. We'll just wait a few days. You told me that they sent one of the faculty to bring your sister to that wizarding mall, right?" Uncle Vernon said soothingly.

"Well, yes... We didn't know what they meant by 'we await your owl,' so we just didn't respond." Aunt Petunia sounded almost frightened. "Then the Deputy Headmaster back then showed up one day and talked to mother and father. The next day we went to... Diagon Alley I think it was called."

"Exactly!" Vernon shouted in glee. "We don't have to worry about anything. We probably don't have to pay anything. Your sister and her husband were relatively well-off, right?"

"Yes, I think they were." Petunia said. "We just won't reply and they'll send someone to get her."

"Good." Uncle Vernon stood and walked toward the door. The two kids weren't fast enough, and when he opened the door, Dudley sprawled of the floor next to Sarah. The two adults fixed them with piercing stares.

"Eh... hi?" Sarah said sheepishly.

"You two were listening, I assume?" said Petunia, with a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah..."

"Then I guess I have some explaining to do. Sit down." Petunia gestured at the kitchen table, and the chairs around it. Vernon walked into the living room, saying that "he didn't need to be there. I can't explain it well."

Aunt Petunia sighed. "I should probably start at the beginning. Sarah, your parents weren't killed in a car crash, like we had told you. They were wizards, and a dark wizard, by the name of Voldemort killed them. He killed your brother as well, and when he tried to kill you, supposedly he just disappeared. That's where the scar came from." she said, pointing at the lightning bolt scar above Sarah's right eye.

Sarah's hand tentatively reached up to touch the scar. "So... they were magical? Is that why you were always uncomfortable talking about them?"

"Yes." Aunt Petunia shook her head. "I know I should have told you, but I couldn't bring myself to do it." she sighed again. "I was really close to my sister, before she went to Hogwarts. Since she was only back for Christmas and summer holidays, I didn't see her much. Over the years the rift between us grew, a rift that I always wanted to fix. Voldemort's attack killed that hope that I had, that the two Evans twins would reunite." With the hardest thing she ever had to say out of the way, she put her head in her hands, trying not to cry.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, I kind of get it. I'm going to go upstairs and think about it for a while, 'k?"

Dudley, who had listened to the whole thing in silence, said, "Sarah, if you need to talk.." He left the offer unfinished.

The raven-haired girl smiled wanly. "Yeah, I know. Your door is always open. Thanks."

Dudley nodded, trying to grin. "Chin up, stiff upper lip, ok, sis?"

Sarah chuckled at her brother's attempt at humor, and walked out of the kitchen, heading upstairs. She walked into her room and closed the door. Sighing, she lay down on the bed, and turned on her CD player, letting the sounds of The Rasmus wash over her. Perhaps tomorrow would bring some insight to the world she had never known, yet now knew that she belonged to. Perhaps tomorrow....

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Fin Chapter 1

A/N: Well, chapter 1 has been finished. Only about a page and a half of it was written on looseleaf, like I usually do. The rest just flowed out of me. Perhaps I will get chapter 2 mostly written today and up tomorrow. Now... to the reviews!

**Tiamante Salazar Tameran:** Thanks for your kind review. Yes, McGonagall is a man. It just seemed right, for some reason. I haven't thought about other characters with different genders, but there may be. Ron won't be a girl though. No frilly pink dresses even if he was. Not many reviews is a bit of an understatement. NO reviews is closer to the truth. A Pumpkin Pasty for you for being the first.

**Shadowface:** Yes, that's entirely true. I never thought of it that way. I haven't totally given Sarah's house a thought, but she's probably going to be a Gryff. Part of the planned story for later depends on it. I might have her befriend a Slyth though. Probably the Slytherin Unknown, Blaise Zabini.

Thanky thanky to both of my reviewers! The reviews inspired me to write again. This fic, actually has been a work-in-progress for going on six months now, since summer vacation. And now, some end of chapter stats.

Prologue length: 2496 words.

Length of story as of Prologue: 2496 words.

Reviewers as of now: 2

There's the stats. Since some characters are OCs, I am going to put small bios at the end of the chapters for any new OCs in the chapter. This Chapter... Sarah Potter!

**Name:** Sarah Madison Potter

**Age:** 11

**Hair Color: **Black (streaked with red at 13)

**Plays:** six-string electric guitar

**Favorite color(s)**: black and red

**Musical Tastes**: The Rasmus, Linkin Park, Evanescence, Dropkick Murphys

**Theme song(s): **"F-F-F-Falling" by The Rasmus, and "Everybody's Fool" by Evanescence

**Hobbies: **writing songs, playing with the band (The NightShrikes), sleeping during the summer

**Likes:** chocolate, her friends, new songs

**Hates:** classical music, people who think they're superior because they're blond


	3. Year 1, Chapter 2: Shoulders to cry on,

A/N: Here is chapter 2. It was started a week earlier than I thought, but finished several months late, which is a bit of an understatement. Meh... I had planned to go through Diagon Alley, but I'm gonna stop right once they get there. Also, today, the day that the bulk of this was written on April 1st, Gred and Forge Weasely's birthday. This chapter is dedicated to those two troublemakers that'll eventually be Sarah's partners in crime. May their lives always be filled with magic, pranks, and exploding trunks filled with fireworks. Happy Birthday, guys! 

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to the "Harry Potter" series. They are copyrighted to J.K.  
Rowling, starting in 1997 through 2003-2004. I thank Ms. Rowling for allowing pathetic,  
unemployed wretches like me mangle her work of art. I do however, own Sarah Madison Potter.  
She is my own creation... I thinks... Please don't use her without my permission.

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Sarah Year 1, Chapter 2: Shoulders to cry on and Welcome to Diagon Alley

"You will be escorting her to Diagon Alley tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, Headmaster. I will explain everything to her aunt and uncle, and then we will pick up her supplies."

"Good, Geoffrey. I will see you tomorrow, then."

"Good night, Headmaster."

"Good night."

* * *

As Sarah slouched downstairs after a restless night, she thought about the letter from yesterday. The letter said that they were "expecting her owl by July 31st." What exactly did that mean? Were owls hyper-intelligent, actually ruled the world, and were using the Earth as a giant computer? Nah, probably not. 

Mrs. Dursley looked up as Sarah shuffled into the kitchen. "Well, good morning, dear. It's about six hours earlier than you usually get up. Even Dudley is still asleep."

With a grunt, Sarah glanced at the clock on the microwave, seeing that it was only about 6:30. She flopped down in her usual chair at the kitchen table. "'Morning..." She muttered, hoping the usual morning question was incoming.

"What would you like to drink?" Petunia asked, rummaging around in the cupboard for a mug.

"What else? Something hot, strong, and high in caffeine..."

Petunia sighed as she looked at her adopted daughter. "How about some green tea? With sugar"

"Mom, I slept maybe four hours last night, if that. If I have to have tea, make it Earl Grey, with plenty of honey."

Petunia nodded at the pre-teen in approval. While Earl Grey had more caffeine than she wanted her kids to have, it was still better than coffee, especially with the honey in it. She puttered around the kitchen, putting water on in the pot to boil. As she finished up, she turned around and sat across from her daughter.

"Well, did you want to talk about it?"

"'Bout what?" Sarah asked, obviously uncomfortable. She wiggled in the chair, trying not to seem too apprehensive.

"Your mum and dad, the fact that they're dead, perhaps how your mother and I got along. Anything."

Sarah looked at her adoptive mother, and Petunia could see the uncertainty in her eyes. Everything about Sarah, she knew, could be read in her eyes. They were like windows into her soul, great emerald portals into a world of raw emotion. Now, those gemstones were reflecting sadness, anger, confusion, and a great, overwhelming pain at the shattering of her life's sturdy base.

Petunia stood, walked around the table, and knelt next to Sarah. She put a hand on the raven-haired girl's shoulder. At this gentle touch, Sarah's lips wavered and then she slowly, quietly, began to cry.

As she sat there, her mother's sister kneeling next to her, she began to pour out her emotions. She told Petunia of how she didn't understand why her parents had to die, that she was torn wether to go to Hogwarts or stay, that she was worried that she didn't know any magic whatsoever. She told her that she was worried that people wouldn't accept her, that they would shun her as they had before she and Dudley had met Alex and Jen. All of these, and more the eleven year old confided in her "mother."

Once Sarah had stopped talking, and only sniffed once in a while, Petunia slowly started talking. "Honey, don't worry. They'll accept you. Just act yourself, and don't put up masks. Let them see the real you and they'll discard any misconceptions of you they might have. As for your parents, well, if I knew your mother, she wouldn't have let some puffed-up fool of a supposed Dark Lord hurt people. That just wasn't her. Your father wouldn't have let her do anything crazy; not without following her to make sure she was okay. "

Sarah grinned through her tears. "Are you sure? You really think it'll be okay?"

"Of course, dear. Now scoot upstairs and get cleaned up. If I remember correctly, they came and took Lily to Diagon Alley the day after she got her letter." Sarah started to protest, but was cut off. "I'll keep your tea warm. Scoot"

Sarah's grin stretched almost ear to ear, and she gave Petunia one last hard hug before scampering upstairs to shower. As Sarah ran away, Petunia stood and turned back to the stove.There she turned the burner down, and sat at the table again. She slowly smiled at the enthusiasm that Sarah had shown after being reassured. She would be fine.

Upstairs, Sarah was soothing her nerves with a hot shower. As the hot water ran through her hair and down her body, she thought about what her mother had said, that they would accept her if she acted like herself. But what about the first time she had acted like herself, in first grade? She had gone ahead in the book and done some higher level math problems, and the teacher had the gall to suggest that she had looked in the back. That she had cheated by looking in the selected answers section. Her eyes had flashed, and his hair suddenly was spiked up and green. Everyone knew that she had somehow done it, and they all shunned and ridiculed her, all except Alex and Jen...

_A six year old Sarah Potter sat on the front steps of Stonewall Primary School, trying not to cry at the meanness of her classmates. Ever since a week ago, when she had turned her teacher's hair green, they had taunted her, and called her a freak. As she sat there, several of her classmates walked up to her, grinning._

_"Hey, freak!" One of them, obviously the leader, shouted. Sarah ignored him. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" the bully shouted again._

_"Hey, man, mebbe she can't talk!" one of the two smaller boys said, grinning._

_Sarah shot a hard glare at the group, then put her head down again. "Leave me alone," she muttered._

_The bigger boy laughed at her. "No, I dun think so. We're gonna make you hurt."_

_The boys fell upon her in a flurry of fists and feet. Sarah fought back, biting one of them,  
and kicking another in the stomach. As the bullies backed off to regain their wind, a small rock about the size of a thumbtack flew through the air from somewhere behind them. It hit the biggest one on the back of the head._

_"Oi!" shouted a small voice, probably the same person who threw the rock. "Leave her alone. Why don't you pick on someone stupider than you, tapioca-for-brains?"_

_The thugs turned around, ready to fight. Before them stood a boy, about their age, wearing a pair of ragged jeans, and an orange t-shirt._

_"And why should we?" asked the smallest of the three._

_The kid grinned ferociously. "Because Miz Wormwood is right behind you."_

_The art teacher, a woman of about fifty, with greying hair and a temper known throughout the school, helped Sarah up as she glared at the bullies. "Messrs. Gallagher, Barton and Cunningham, please follow me. I'm sure the principal would like to see you three." She grabbed all three by the scruffs of their necks and dragged them off, wincing and howling the whole way._

_Sarah gave a start as a hand was thrust in front of her face. The boy was grinning at her as he held it out._

_"Hi! I'm Alex. You're Sarah Potter, right? The one who turned that prat Edwards hair green?"_

_"Yes..." Sarah said slowly, unsure what to make of him, with his chestnut brown hair and engaging openness. Luckily, she was spared an immediate decision by a shout from the steps._

_"Alex! Did Miz W. get them?" A girl of Sarah's age, with a thin face, and shoulder-length dirty blonde hair was bounding toward them at top speed._

_Alex waved at her. They obviously knew each other. "Yeah! It was great! Scruffs of their necks and everything." He turned back to Sarah. "This is Jen, short for Jennifer."_

_The girl reached them and smacked him over the head. "Prat! No full first names!"_

_"Ow... Okay, okay..."_

_Jen laughed at the pout plastered on his face. "Well, the whiner here is Alex, and I'm Jen. Wanna be friends?"_

_Slowly, Sarah nodded. "Sure. Why not?"_

Ah, what days those had been. That had been the start of her pranking bullies. Alex and Jen had truly changed her for the better.

As she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, she heard the sound of the doorbell echo through the house. She frowned. Who would visit the house this early? It was only seven, after all. Perhaps it was someone from that school.

She stepped into her room and shut the door quietly. No point in waking Dudley up early.  
She strode across the room to the dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and jeans, quickly throwing them on, then flopping down on her bed to think.

"Sarah, could you come downstairs?" Aunt Petunia called up the staircase. Sarah groaned and rolled off the bed. No rest for the weary and emotionally confused.

Aunt Petunia turned away from the stairway, back toward the strangely dressed man sitting in her living room. "Professor... McGonagall, was it?" she asked the robe-clad redhead. He nodded a curt affirmative.

"You're here to pick up Sarah to take her to Diagon Alley, correct?"

The cat Animagus' eyes widened in surprise. "How...!"

Petunia grinned rather uncharacteristically. "Lily was my sister, remember? I went with her when she got picked up. Made me wish that I had gotten in as well."

McGonagall nodded. "I see. Where is Miss Potter?" Just as he finished speaking, Sarah came crashing down the stairs, tripping over a piece of carpet, and falling on her face. If this had been an anime, McGonagall would have had a big sweatdrop running down the back of his head.

McGonagall coughed nervously. "Ahem... Miss Potter, I'm here to escort you to Diagon Alley so you can pick up your school supplies."

Sarah groaned as she picked herself up off the floor. "Really? Sounds fun. When do we start?"

McGonagall, not used to muggle humor, answered with a bit of a Look. "As soon as you are ready. Now, perhaps"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me get my player," Sarah said before running back upstairs,  
McGonagall looking at her like she was nuts, which was a distinct possibility.

"What is that child on!"

Petunia laughed at McGonagall's question, writing a note to Vernon and Dudley. "Nothing, to be honest. She's just... Sarah."

McGonagall nodded, not really understanding. "What did she mean by 'her player'?"

"Her CD player. She never goes on the underground without it, because of the noise. We are going on the underground, I assume?"

He nodded again, obviously wanting to ask more, but was stopped by Sarah pelting down the staircase and jumping the last two steps, CD player and jacket in tow.

"I'm ready! Let's go!"

As the noisy subway shot towards London, McGonagall and Petunia talked about Lily, James, and their escapades at school, while Sarah listened to her music.

_F-f-f-falling!  
Down with the sun!  
The night is calling me like a drum!  
I keep on f-f-falling..._

"...so then Lily dumped a goblet of pumpkin juice on his head and said..."

_I don't go to school every monday  
I've got my reason to sleep  
Don't you tell me how I should be..._

"...really? I always thought she despised him. At least that's what she always said..."

_My life is so full of temptation,  
and I want to keep it that way  
I know myself, I can handle the game..._

"...oh, it was, but in their seventh year, my first as Head of Gryffindor House, he stopped hexing everyone who looked at him wrong, and acted more like the James she wanted..."

_I need a light, I need a spark,  
don't be afraid to open my heart..._

"'IGH STREET STATION! ALL PASSENGERS CONNECTING TO THE EDINBURGH TRAIN GET OFF HERE!"

McGonagall stood up. "This is our stop. Come on."

Sarah and Petunia stood up and followed the now jean-clad wizard off the train. He had transfigured his robes into muggle clothing before they had left.

As they walked, they chatted about what Sarah would learn at Hogwarts ("Potions and Charms... imagine the pranks), the four houses (''Really? Two of them are rivals? Cool!''), and a bit about the main wizarding sport, Quidditch (''It's on brooms? Isn't that... dangerous?'').

McGonagall looked up and started in surprise. "Bugger. We passed it." He pointed at a small pub, The Leaky Cauldron, a good ways behind them.

Sarah looked at it sceptically. "Are you sure, Professor?" The small place didn't look much like a place where magic could happen.

McGonagall had the presence of mind to look a bit embarassed. "I told Tom that he needed to clean up the front. Not much of a first impression, is it"

Sarah shook her head. The place looked like it had been bombed, rebuilt by monkeys, bulldozed, then rebuilt by someone without depth perception. And that was being nice!

"Ah, well, come on," McGonagall sighed. "You'll want to get home before lunch."

He guided them over to the door, above which hung a wood-carved sign proclaiming 'The Leaky Cauldron, est. 1675'.

Inside was a well lit, but dingy room, on one side of which was a bar. On the other side of the room was a dining area, obviously for people with children too young to sit at the bar, or large groups, like the redheaded one sitting at a table.

The mother, a short plump woman in her forties, was berating two of her sons, twins from their identical looks, for a prank they had pulled on their older brother, a stuffy,  
bespectacled boy of about fifteen.

"Fred, I know you placed that firework in your brother's trunk!"

The twin scoffed. "God, woman, can't you tell your own sons apart? I'm George!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, George."

"Just kidding, mum. I'm Fred!"

The twins younger brothers and sister roared with laughter as the mother scowled at the twins. Fred, casting around for a distraction, noticed McGonagall.

"Oi, Professor! What are you doing here? Come and have a drink!"

McGonagall grinned at Fred's antics, but said, "Sorry, Mr. Weasley. Hogwarts business. I'm helping Sarah here get her school supplies."

At these words, the whole pub fell silent for a few seconds, before exploding into sound and motion.

"Bless me soul," said the old bartender, "Sarah Potter... I am honored."

A little wizard in a top hat and purple cloak took her hand and pumped it up and down furiously. "Daedelus Diggle, Miss Potter. Pleased to meet you.

Others swarmed around her, clamoring for her attention.

"Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can't believe I'm finally meeting you."

"Always wanted to meet you, Miss Potter. Wanted to for ages."

"So proud, Miss Potter, just so proud."

Sarah was kept shaking hands for almost ten minutes - one of the younger Weasleys, a boy about her age, kept coming back for more.

A pale young man wearing a purple turban came forward, rather nervously in Sarah's eyes.

"Ah! Professor Quirrell!" McGonagall said. "Sarah, Professor Quirrell will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."

"N-not that you'll n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" Quirrell laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting your equipment, I suppose. I must p-pick up a b-book on Dark Creatures, s-see if it'll be g-good for the t-third year curriculum."

As Quirrell picked his way through the crowd, McGonagall tried to lead Sarah and Petunia through the crowd, saying, "We must be going - much to buy. Come on, you two."

McGonagall let the two out of the bar, and into a small, walled courtyard. Nothing was there but a few weeds, a trash can, and a black and orange calico cat slinking into the darkness between The Leaky Cauldron and the next door building.

"Was he okay?" Sarah asked McGonagall as he counted bricks on the wall.

"Oh, yes. He's always like that. Brilliant chap. He was fine while he was doing his book learning, but then he took a year off to get first-hand experience. I don't want to spread gossip about my fellow professors, but they say that he met vampires in the Black Forest, and a bit of nasty business with a hag. Hasn't been the same since. Scared of the students, even harmless first years, scared of the whole subject of DADA." he finished, whipping out his wand.

"DADA?" Sarah asked, a bit confused at the mini-lecture.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh..."

McGonagall turned back to the wall, his wand raised. "Let me see," he muttered. "Three up, and two 'cross."

He tapped a brick with the point of his wand. The brick wiggled, and the bricks around it moved in clunking wave, the tapped brick becoming the keystone in an arch inscribed with swirly, golden squiggles.

Beyond the arch, Sarah could see shops, filled with happy people, shopping for whatever they might need.

"Welcome, Sarah," McGonagall said, "to Diagon Alley."

* * *

A/N: Whew... Finally got it done. Over half of this was hen-pecked out on the on-screen keyboard of my new Palm. Gotta love technology. Also, I'm sorry for the lateness. RL took over. Enough excuses. On to review responses! 

Tiamante Salazar Tameran, now known as Lady Azar de Tameran: Gotta love the Gryffs. On the Blaise subject, she (or he, depending on how I feel at the moment I have Sarah and Blaise meet) won't even really meet the Gryff Four until second year. /thinks about delicious plot twists/ mmm... buttery...

Shadowface: Hmmm... Dumbledore, huh/thinks/ She'll think he's nuts.

Kitty (anon): I know you said update soon. Sorry for the wait... ;;

Talons: Don't worry, I don't intend to. And Sarah isn't really a female Harry. She's his twin.  
/forgives Talons if he/she missed that bit/

Silver-Entrantress-Elf: I'm glad you like it!

Story stats:

Chapter 2 word count: 3185

Total Story word count: 8383

Well, that's it for this chapter. Tune in soon, hopefully next week, for chapter 3, _Goblins, Gargoyles, and Gold... Oh my!_

Just kidding.

Press the little purple button in the corner, please!

Oh, I almost forgot! I promised you guys another profile, didn't I?

Name: Alexander Smythe  
Age: 11  
Hair color: Chestnut Brown  
Plays: electric rhythm guitar and keyboard synth Favorite colors: orange, orange, orange, and orange  
Musical tastes: anything with lots of synth, and/or guitar solos  
Theme song(s): "Over My Head" by Lit (off the Titan AE soundtrack. Lots of good guitar)  
Hobbies: reading science fiction, hanging upside-down from the chinup bar in Number Four's garage, making up guitar solos he'll never play  
Likes: synth, guitar, synth, ripe oranges, synth, maraschino cherries, and did I mention synth?  
Hates: wanna-be guitarists, stupid blondes, people who can't tell the difference between backup and lead vocals.

Purple button, pweeese?


	4. Year 1, Chapter 3: Gringotts, and not so

A/N: Ok, guys, here's chapter 3. I'm going through Diagon Alley, and a bit more afterwards. 

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to the "Harry Potter" series. They are copyrighted to J.K. Rowling, starting in 1997 through 2003-2004. I thank Ms. Rowling for allowing pathetic, unemployed wretches like me mangle her work of art. I do however, own Sarah Madison Potter. She is my own creation... I thinks... Please don't use her without my permission.

Sarah

By Chibi-NarutoKawaii

Year 1, Chapter 3: Gringotts, and not-so-friendly blondes.

* * *

Last time:

_"Welcome, Sarah," McGonagall said, "to Diagon Alley_

* * *

Sarah's eyes widened as she gazed through the arch. To her left was a shop bearing the label "Crockpot's Cauldrons -- All Sizes -- Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Gold -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible."

Ahead of her were more shops, some with piles of goods outside them, others with groups of people staring at goods inside the windows.

McGonagall smiled at her. "Come on. We've got to get to Gringotts."

Sarah twisted her head around to look at the Irishman. "Gringotts?"

"The wizarding bank.," McGonagall said. "It's run by goblins." He nudged her gently in the back, urging her forward.

The three walked down Diagon Alley, heading toward the snowy white building of Gringotts. As they walked, Sarah's eyes gravitated from building to building. Outside the Apothecary, a plump wonam was shaking her head, muttering "Dragon liver, a Galleon an ounce... Mad, they are..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign stating "Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, Snowy and Eagle."

Outside 'Quality Quidditch Supplies', several boys -- and not a few girls -- had their noses pressed against a window with a over a dozen highly polished brooms in it. "Lookit!" Sarah heard one of them say, "It's the new Nimbus model -- the Two Thousand. It's the fastest yet."

They passed shops selling robes, telescopes and silver instruments emitting smoke, globes of the moon, piles of spell books, potions...

"Gringotts," McGonagall said, pointing at the towering white building. Beside the bronze doors stood -- there was no other word -- a goblin. He was about a head shorter than Sarah, with a wrinkly, angular face, long pointed ears, and wearing a long-tailed overcoat. He bowed as they walked through the doors. Inside, they faced another set of doors, silver this time. Engraved on them were words, surrounded by more of the moving gold squiggles from the arch.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed _

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay dearly in their turn.  
_

_So if you seek beneath our floors _

_A treasure that was never yours,  
_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware _

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Rather paranoid, aren't they?" Sarah asked, quirking an eyebrow upwards.

"They have to be." said McGonagall. "They store the gold of most of the wizarding families in the world here. Oh, there are branches in most major countries," He added, seeing Sarah's sceptical look. "But this is the main branch. Come on."

The cat Animagus motioned the two over to a goblin at the counter. All along it were at least a hundred more goblins, scribbling in ledgers, weighing coins and precious stones on sets of brass scales, and helping other witches and wizards.

"Good morning," said McGonagall to the goblin. "We're here to take some money out of Miss Sarah Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Yes, somewhere..." McGonagall said as he rummaged his pockets, pulling out several packets of cat treats and a small money bag before finding the small golden key.

"Ah, here we are!" he said triumphantly as he handed the shaped piece of metal to the goblin, which examined it closely.

"It seems to be in order." The goblin said.

McGonagall cleared his throat, leaning his elbow on the counter. "I've also got a message from Dumbledore. He wants you to know that Hagrid will be arriving for the You-Know-What in vault 713, later today."

The goblin glanced at the ginger-haired man before scribbling something in his ledger. "Very well. I will have someone take you down to Miss Potter's vault. Griphook!"

Griphook was another goblin, dressed in a crimson uniform that looked suspiciously like a bellhop's uniform. Once the three humans and one goblin had crammed themselves into a small cart in the next room -- which looked quite like a dungeon -- it went hurtling down the tracks it sat on.

As they entered a maze of insane twists and turns, Aunt Petunia bit back a scream. On top of the g-forces, Griphook didn't seem to be steering.

Eventually, after about five minutes of a stomach-twisting ride, they slowed down and stopped in front of a large iron door with a small keyhole in the center.

Griphook unlocked the door, and a copious amount of foggy green smoke came billowing out. When it cleared, both Sarah and Aunt Petunia gasped as piles of bronze, gold and silver coins were revealed.

"It's all yours." said McGonagall.

"Wow..." Sarah tried to count how many coins there were in there, but failed miserably. She started as Griphook thrust a small leather bag in front of her.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he said, pointing at a pile of them. "There are seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle. The current exchange rate is ten Muggle pounds to a Galleon. Rather favorable for Muggleborns. Last week it was twenty pounds to a Galleon."

Sarah nodded, barely comprehending the goblin's words as she placed enough money to last her several terms in the bag. "I'm ready. Let's go get my stuff."

* * *

Another wild caart ride later, the three stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Sarah didn't know where to run to first, having more money than either her or Dudley had at one time their entire lives.

"Come on. We'll get your robes and the rest of your uniform first," said McGonagall, pointing toward 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.' "Listen, you two. I'll be right back. I need to check on something for Dumbledore." Sarah nodded, and she and Aunt Petunia walked into Madam Malkins.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed in mauve robes that brushed the floor.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said when Sarah opened her mouth to speak. "Got the lot -- another first year getting fitted right now."

In the back of the shop, a pale boy with white-blond hair and a pointed face was standing on a footstool while one of Madam Malkin's assistants pinned up a long black robe.

"Hello," the boy said, "You're Hogwarts too, right?"

"Yeah." said Sarah.

"My father's next door getting my books and mother's up the street looking at potions ingredients," said the boy. He had a lazy, drawling voice, and Sarah decided that she didn't really like him.

"Then," he continued, "I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms." He sighed pathetically. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I guess I'll ask father to get me one and somehow smuggle it in."

The boy, who Sarah had decided reminded her of one of the spoiled brats down the block, looked at her. "Have _you_ got your own broom?"

"No," said Sarah.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Sarah said again, wondering what the bloody hell Quidditch was.

"_I_ do -- father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house team, and I have to agree. Know what house you'll be in?"

"No. I doubt most, including me, would even care." Sarah retorted.

The pale boy looked mortally offended. "Well, if I got put in Hufflepuff, I'd probably transfer straight to Durmstrang. Duffers, the whole lot. My whole family has been in Slytherin."

"Whoop-dee-freaking-doo..."

The boy looked closely at Sarah. "Are you Muggleborn?"

"Am I what?"

"Muggleborn. You are, aren't you?"

Sarah glowered at the pale boy. "I don't have the slightest clue what youo're talking about. My parents were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"_Were?_"

"They died when I was one."

"Oh, sorry." He didn't sound very sorry. "Well, I don't think they should let halfbloods and Muggleborns in. It's not the same, them not being raised to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." He glanced over at Sarah. "What's your surname, anyway?"

Before Sarah could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, dear," and Sarah, glad for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the stool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, then." The boy drawled.

'Not if I can help it,' Sarah thought at she grabbed her bag and followed Aunt Petunia out.

Outside, McGonagall was waiting for them. "Come on, we'll grab your books next."

Inside the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books of all sizes, small as postage stamps or large as paving stones. Aunt Petunia had to literally drag Sarah away from _Magical Pranking and The Best Methods of Not Getting Caught._

"The last thing Hogwarts needs is you pranking magically. You're already dangerous enough with normal methods."

Flipping through the shelves, Sarah managed to find the perfect substitute: _Magical Pranksters at Hogwarts: from Peeves to The Marauders._ Little did Aunt Petunia know that most of the subjects best pranks were detailed in there.

In the Apothecary, Petunia wouldn't let Sarah get _The Basic Prankster's Kit of Potions Ingredients._

"No, no, and NO! No magical pranking!"

After they left the Apothecary -- Sarah still scowling -- Aunt Petunia checked over Sarah's school list.

"According to this," she said, "All that's left other than your wand is a magical familiar; cat, rat, toad or owl." She glanced at Sarah. "Listen, I'll get you an owl. The professor here--" She jerked her thumb at McGonagall. "--said that they're darn useful. Carry your mail and everything."

"B-but you don't have to do that!" Sarah exclaimed.

"No buts. Besides, I feel a little bad about the 'No magical pranking' thing. It's an early birthday present."

Twenty minutes later they walked out of Eeylops Owl Emporium -- a dark and rustling place -- carrying a large cage with a beautiful snowy owl in it. Sarah kept stammering out her thanks, Petunia waving them off.

"It's no problem. Come on, let's go get your wand."

The last shop was narrow, with a dusty window display . Above the door was a sign reading _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._

A tinkling bell rang out from the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was tiny, empty except for several spindly chairs that Petunia and McGonagall sat in to wait.

Sarah looked around the shop. In front of her was a low counter, covered in long, narrow boxes. Behind it was several rows of tall shelves, filled with more boxes. For some reason, as she looked at those boxes, the hairs on the back neck stood up straight.

"Good morning," said a soft, almost sibilant voice. Sarah jumped, and, if life had been an anime, would have been located on the ceiling. From the creaks behind her, Petunia and McGonagall had jumped as well.

An old man was now standing behind the counter, his pale, almost silvery eyes gazing widely at her.

"Umm... hi?" Sarah said nervously.

"Ah, yes," the man said. "Yes, yes. I thought I would be seeing you soon, Sarah Potter." It was evidently not a question. "You have your mother's eyes, and a bit of her face. Almost yesterday, it seems, that she was in here, buying her wand. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, made of willow, with a core of unicorn hair. Good for Charm work."

Mr. Ollivander leaned closer to Sarah, who wished he would blink. The eyes were creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, used a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable, with a dragon heartstring core. Excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he favored it -- it is truly the wand that choses the wizard."

Ollivander had gotten so close to Sarah that she could see herself in his misty eyes. The old wandmaker slowly reached a long, thin finger up to Sarah's forehead. He gently touched the lightning bolt scar resting there.

"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that made that. Thirteen and one half inches, yew, with a phoenix feather core. If I had known what that wand would do... hindsight is twenty twenty, I suppose."

He clapped his hands together. "Now, let's get you started. Which is your wand arm?"

Sarah blinked. "Right, I guess."

"Very well." Ollivander picked up several of the long boxes. He opened one of them and pulled out a rather thin wand. "Here. Ebony and unicorn hair, eight inches, rather firm."

Sarah took the wand from him, looking at it strangely. "Ok, now what?"

"Give it a wave!"

Sarah did so, feeling sort of foolish, especially after Ollivander immediately took it from her, saying "No, no, try this one." He pulled another wand from a box. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring, seven and a quarter inches, rather whippy."

Sarah had barely taken the wand from him and started to wave it when Olivander grabbed it from her with a shake of his head. "No, perhaps another."

The testing of wands went on for a good while, but each time Ollivander became more and more excited. "Tough customer, eh? Well, here, try this one. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

The instant Sarah's fingers touched the wand, a warm feeling swept through her body. When she brought it swishing down, a fountain of red, gold and silver sparks shot out of it.

Petunia whooped, McGonagall grinned, and Ollivander cried out, "Oh, bravo, Miss Potter! Very good, indeed, but very curious... curious..."

"Sorry, but what's curious?" Sarah asked apprehensively.

"I remember every wand I sell, Miss Potter. Your wand, with it's phoenix feather core, has two brothers. One gave you your famous scar," he said, leaning in and tracing the raised mark again. "and the other was sold only yesterday. Very curious, indeed."

Sarah shivered as she paid seven Galleons and four Sickles for her wand. Ollivander's misty, mysterious words had made her think. If Voldemort had one of the three wands, and she had another, who had the third?

The noon sun shone down on Sarah, Petunia and McGonagall as they exited The Leaky Cauldron, where they had eaten lunch.

As they walked back to the Underground, Sarah flipped through _Magical Pranksters at Hogwarts_, which McGonagall had charmed to look like a regular novel. According to it, Peeves was a poltergeist that had been in the castle for about two centuries, and only the Headmaster and the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, could control him. He had done so many pranks that only his most fantastic pranks were in the book.

The Marauders, a group that had been at school during the early to mid 1970's, had been almost as bad as Peeves. Dozens of pranks in a year, and none knew their real names. Whenever they had signed their pranks, they had used the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

As they stepped off the Underground in Surrey, Sarah (who had been so engrossed in the trip to Diagon Alley) realized that in the excitement, she had forgotten about Alex and Jen. _What was she going to tell them?_

The rest of the way home, she worried about how her other two friends and bandmates would take her change in schools. Duds, she knew, would support her one hundred percent.

"Hey, sis," Dudley said as Sarah sat her bags in one of the chairs in the living room. "Alex called. He said he had something to tell you. He'll be over later."

Sarah sighed. "Ok. Hey, do you want to hear about the shopping expedition?"

"Sure. I wanna see some of the stuff you got."

With that, Sarah proceeded to tell him all about Diagon Alley, it's denizens, and it's goods.

* * *

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Standing outside was Alex Smythe, decked out in an orange sweatsuit, his amber eyes shining behind his chestnut bangs.

"Hey, Sarah," he said. "Want to head to the Garage? It's probably the best place, soundproofing and all that."

"Why would we need soundproofing?" Sarah asked. "It's not like we're going to kill each other..."

Alex shrugged and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "You might want to..."

"Whatever," Sarah said and walked outside, closing the door behind her. Alex followed her to the Garage, mumbling things under his breath the entire way.

"All right," Alex said after they had closed the sliding door behind them. "I have to tell you something."

Sarah shifted nervously. "Yeah, same here. Wanna say it at once?" Alex nodded gratefully at this suggestion.

"On three, then."

"One..."

"Two..."

"Three."

They both took a deep breath, then blurted out "I'm going to some school called Hogwarts to learn magic!"

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.

"You too, then?" asked Alex as he clutched his stomach, which was hurting from his bout of laughter.

"Yeah. Does Jen know?"

"Know! Bloody hell, I was worried you'd have the same response as her and punch me in the gut!"

* * *

A/N: I tried to end the chapter on a funny note. Not sure I succeded. Yes, half of the band is going to Hogwarts. Yay! And now for the review responses!

**Emma-Lizzy-Black** (signed): _Blinks and tries to understand the sentence_ Umm... _Asks Serpent's Redemption for help_ Ah! Yes, McGonagall is a guy.

**Anonymous** (anon): Sorry about the length between updates. I try my best, but I try for perfection of plot and dialogue, which sort of slows me down...

**fireflashphoenix** (signed): The muggle culture thing... I understand how you feel. In response to point A: I have a bit of a plan to deal with that. Sarah is going to be really good in Charms... Until about early fifth year, it's just acoustic guitars and normal pianos at Hogwarts.

With point B: Neither Sarah nor Alex are going to forget the muggle world, since Jen and Dudley would chase them down. In defense of this, Dean Thomas, a muggleborn, has a poster of the Westham (might be wrong about the name) football team. As of book five, he still hasn't been convinced that Quidditch is better than football.

I hope that helped explain it a bit.

**ducky** (anon): sighs Ducky, Ducky, Ducky... what am I going to do with you? I'm glad you like it, but _please_ tone it down. Younger people than you and I might read your reviews.

Well, that's all the reviews. Thanks for reading, and please press the purple button!


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